


Whiskey On My Lips

by alex_fix



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: F/F, Her thoughts on Waverly, Inside Nicole's head
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:39:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27800116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alex_fix/pseuds/alex_fix
Summary: Ever wondered what Nicole thinks when she thinks of Waverly...
Relationships: Waverly Earp & Wynonna Earp, Waverly Earp/Nicole Haught, Wynonna Earp & Nicole Haught
Kudos: 43





	Whiskey On My Lips

Shorty’s is busier than usual. The constant opening and closing of the door behind my back and the rowdy laughter all around telling me it’s neither the time, nor the place to have a serious heart-to-heart with my drinking buddy. I nurse a fourth, Wynonna on whatever number she’s reached in the same amount of time we’ve been sat here consoling each other over the lack of love in our lives. You tut as you place two more full glasses before us letting me know we’re in your bad books. Again.

Whiskey on my lips, Waverly on my mind. That shirt you wear when serving behind the bar, why do you need to show off so much flesh? Why do you not seem to mind what guys think? Why do you not care if their eyes drink in the exposed part of your anatomy like a chilled beer on a rib-roasting summer’s day? And, why do you not know what you’re doing to me? Oh wait, how could you? You’re not a mind reader, with access to my deepest thoughts.

You asked me once what my type is. I told you I didn’t have a type, the only answer I could give after you put me on the spot like that. You insisted I must have a type, and I said maybe I did, maybe I didn’t. What I wanted to say, what I was afraid of saying, to the person standing before me wiping down the bar, was I have a type. 

You are my type, with thighs so perfect they must have been chiseled by a famous sculptor. Michelangelo, that’s the guy. I should have said my type comes wrapped in denim shorts and a short shirt and sexy cowboy boots that sound like you’re tap dancing with what I imagine are perfectly chiseled feet. I should have said my type is the unavailable, the attractive but taken type, the type that gives the impression of not being into me. I should have said all that to you, but I didn’t.

Wynonna raises a full glass in front of my eyes. “Here’s to getting laid tonight. You getting laid tonight Haught?”

“Not tonight,” I say, glancing at you for a millisecond. “And by the looks of it, my friend, you won’t be either.”

“Who says? There’s a cute guy over by the pool table, got my eye on him. Waves needs to widen her circle now Champ’s finally off the menu.”

“Since when?” I ask.

“Since…since she saw the light. Hallelujah.”

“She can do a whole lot better than that…”

“Language officer, there’s ladies present.”

Your hand sweeps a cloth in front of our glasses, a signal you want in on our conversation. “What are you two plotting?” 

“Just telling Haught your love life sucks as much as ours.”

Now is not the time to mention my love life might not suck as much if I had the nerve to tell you how I really feel. And, now really is not the time to mention the dreams I’ve been having about you lately, which may involve sucking those perfectly chiseled feet of yours. 

Wynonna needs my attention again. “Hey Haught, you awake? I said, who…who do you think Waverly should date now she’s clear of that loser?”

“How should I know?” I say. “Does she need to date anyone? Can’t she be free of men for a while?”

“You’re right,” you say. “Why do I need anyone? You’re not with anyone and you seem perfectly happy.”

“Sure, happy, happy, happy. That’s me.”

More whiskey hits my lips and you are still on my mind. Can you not see how miserable I am without you? Can you not tell I’m crushing hard on you? Of course you can’t. And, that’s good. No, that’s bad. I’m drunk. It’s a good thing you don’t realise what’s going on inside my head. This town is too small to make mistakes and letting you know how I feel would be a huge mistake, especially here in Purgatory, a mistake as big as the Hoover Dam, bigger than the Hoover Dam. What’s bigger than the Hoover Dam? 

“Why are you grinning?” you ask, with that soft voice of yours, making parts of me react before my brain can work out what’s bigger than that damn dam. “What’s so funny Officer Haught?”

“The Hoover Dam,” I say, seeing your eyes roll. And I’m wondering whether you think I’m weird. “You’re right, the Hoover Dam isn’t funny.” 

“Never said that. I will say my sister is a bad influence.”

“I’m not. Two more drinks.”

Later, alone in my bed, I swear the pillow is trying to suck my brains out and the sky is too bright for the amount of whiskey I drank. I should know by now not to have one more drink with your sister. But, it was worth it to spend a few hours with you. Let me think, did I say anything that might make you suspect? Did I say I really liked your legs in those boots? No, no, no, I did. Wait, I said I really liked your boots. Why did I even say that? 

That’s right, I was thinking about your boots after you asked me if I was going to the barn dance. It got me thinking of the first time I met you. You didn’t see me, but I saw those boots and those shorts. Those boots did it for me. Who am I kidding, it was the shorts. I was in my uniform, taking in the town as its newest officer. You didn’t notice me. You could easily have seen me if you hadn’t been on your phone. Then again, why would you have seen me? It’s not like I would ever be on your radar. 

I shouted at you as that car sped past. “Hey, look out.”

“That was close,” you said. “You saved me.”

“Just doing my job. Say, where’s the best place to get a coffee round here?”

You smiled at me. That’s what did it, and those twinkling eyes of yours. “You’re new round here. Waverly…Waverly Earp.”

Our hands touched. “Haught. Nicole. Officer Haught. Officer Nicole Haught.”

“That’s a lot of names,” you said. “Shorty’s serves coffee, but we’re not open yet. Drop by later and I’ll see what I can do. On the house for saving me Officer Haught.”

“I’ll do that Waverly Earp. Don’t go walking in front of any more cars.”

“I won’t,” you said, waving that hand of yours at me. 

I did drop by. I remember a radio playing a sappy love song as I entered. What was that song? I couldn’t see you, but I could hear you singing along. I placed my Stetson on the bar waiting for you to appear, amused at the tiny shriek you let out as you popped up from behind some crates.

“Jeez, you scared me.”

“That’s some voice you have.”

“The shower and an empty bar are my limit.”

“You’re good.”

“That’s two coffees I owe you.”

“One,” I said. “Compliments I give for free. I only accept drinks for saving lives.”

“Well, I’m glad you did. I swear that phone will be the death of me. How do you take it?”

“My coffee? Black, two sugars.”

“Two?”

“Trying to kick the habit.”

“What brings you to Purgatory?”

“Clue’s in the clothing, ma’am.”

I saw you checking out my uniform, taking in its details, your eyes resting on the shiny name badge above my shirt pocket. “You’re the first female officer here,” you said. “Makes a change. We’re not the most progressive.”

“Yep, Purgatory’s different to where I was before.”

“Where’s that?” you asked.

I wanted to tell you. I wanted to say I had a wife, well ex-wife, I wanted to tell you about the city where I trained and all the decisions leading to me being in a bar with you. I didn’t. I simply asked if you were going to make that coffee you offered.

“Coming right up. Black, two sugars.”

“Make it one.”

All those times I went to Shorty’s for a black coffee, no sugar because of you, and all those times you served me at the end of my shift, just so I could sit for a while chatting with you. Champ would always turn up like a bad smell, him sitting at the other end of the bar my signal to leave. If I had the guts I would have asked you why him and not me. I didn’t have the guts.

Why was I even thinking about your boots? Oh, that’s right, the barn dance. Purgatory’s annual get together, when folks dress up in their finest, so I’ve been told. Maybe I’ll say something now you’re free of Champ. Maybe I’ll let you know what’s on my mind. Maybe I do have the guts after all.

You’re wiping down the bar as I enter for my usual black coffee, no sugar, my head still pounding from the whiskey. Your eyes are puffy and your hair hangs limply over your shoulders. “Hey,” you say, spotting me in the doorway. “Don’t just stand there, come give me a hand with these crates.”

“Everything okay?” I ask. “You’re not your usual cheery self.”

“So, are you going the barn dance tonight? You never said.”

“Maybe. Waves, can I say something? It’s been on my mind for a while.”

“Sure. Champ’s asked me to go with him.”

“Okay. But, I thought…”

“Guess I’m destined to be Mrs Hardy.”

“Wynonna said you two were done. That it was over for good.”

“Did she?”

“You’re giving him yet another chance. How many is that now?”

“Do you think I should?”

“Really not my call.”

“What would you do?”

My Stetson rubs against my fingers as you empty one of the crates. “The same as you I guess.”

“What did you want to tell me?”

“Oh that. It can wait.”

“Will I see you at the dance later?”

“Maybe.”

The words I had ready to say remain stuck in my throat, a gaping hole in the middle of my chest where my heart should be and an ache in my arms to hold you, but you’re slipping away again. There’s no way I’m going to some stupid dance to watch you being held by that creep, while I remain on the outside of your arms. It’s no use pretending I even have a chance. I’m fooling myself thinking someone like you would ever want to be with me. 

And later, a few hours to go before the dance, I get your text. Car trouble. That’s it. Nothing more, guessing you meant to send it to that lame excuse for a boyfriend of yours. I call your number. 

“Where are you?”

“The barn, out by Mason’s farm,” you say.

“What are you doing that far out?”

“Long story. Where are you?”

“Still at my desk. I can come get you. Are you alone?”

“Why?”

“Champ knows you’re stuck?” I ask.

“Nope.”

“You called me instead of him.”

“How long will you be?”

“Fifteen, twenty minutes tops. Don’t go anywhere.”

“Oh, I won’t.”

I spot your car on the edge of the Mason property, lights twinkling inside the old barn and a radio playing a love song. I hear you singing, letting you finish before entering. It takes a few moments to get what I’m seeing, a red and white checkered cloth over a hay bale, an ice bucket with a handful of unopened beers, a string of fairy lights casting a soft glow over whatever this is. Whatever this is it’s so romantic. 

“Expecting anyone?” I ask.

“Maybe,” you say, opening a beer and offering it to me.

“I drive all this way and Champ’s coming.”

“I told you, Champ’s not coming.” 

The bottle is cool against my lips, the liquid welcome in my mouth as I piece together the evidence before me, slowly coming to the conclusion this must be the biggest tease ever. “Okay, okay, what is this?”

“Three guesses.”

“I don’t know. You like barns.”

“First guess.”

I take a mouthful of beer. “You have a thing for fairy lights.”

“Actually I do,” you say. “Guess two.”

“You like dragging officers to remote locations to drink beer under fairy lights in old barns.”

“You might make detective yet, Officer Haught.”

“Seriously, what is all this?” I ask, hoping it’s for real, terrified it might not be.

“I’m not helping you.”

I take two more gulps, not enough to loosen the words still stuck in my throat. “Beats me.”

You wink. “I’ll give you a clue. It’s chilly in here with only a coat to keep me warm.”

My eyes are already on the garment before I can stop myself, a warmth rising through my body at the thought of you, Waverly Earp, in nothing more than a coat and those sexy cowboy boots.

“Only a coat,” I say.

“Only a coat.”

“Nothing else.”

“Nothing else,” you say.

“And Champ’s not coming.”

“Definitely not coming.”

I find the edge of a bale to take my weight, picking at the label on the bottle. A piece comes off on my fingers, flicking it away I take another gulp. “I shouldn’t be drinking on duty.”

“Guess not,” you say, shifting slightly on your bale, uncrossing your legs, crossing them again allowing me a glimpse of those perfectly chiseled thighs I now know Michelangelo could never do justice.

I place the bottle down and pick up my Stetson. “I need to get back. Thanks for the beer.”

“What’s wrong?” you ask as I head for the door. “Nicole, wait.” The cold night air slaps my face as I walk away, that hand of yours touching my arm. “Nicole, please.”

“I’ve got to go.”

“I’m so sorry, I thought…”

“You thought what?”

“I thought…I thought…”

“What?”

“I thought there might be something more.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t make this any harder for me. I’m already ashamed what I’ve done here.”

“You’ll get over it. With Champ’s help.”

Your eyes narrow at my words. “That’s cruel.”

“Is it? You’ve dragged me all the way out here for what? To tell me you’re not wearing anything under that coat and you expect me to do what?”

“Please don’t be mad at me.”

“What were you thinking?”

Your eyes meet mine. “Can’t you see?”

“See what?”

“I can’t live like this.”

“What?”

“I ache. I can’t sleep, I can’t concentrate and when you smile my world lights up.”

“Waverly, you’re with Champ. Whatever this is…”

“It’s over,” you say. “For good this time, I swear.”

“I’m sorry,” I say.

“Can we still be friends?”

“How can we be friends? Not after what you’ve done.”

I see you swallow, your voice but a whisper. “Thank you for your honesty.”

I stand before you, looking into twinkling eyes. “We can’t be friends,” I say. “Not when we both feel this way about each other. It should never have come to this, you having to do all this for me to say what I should have had the guts to say to you sooner.”

“You mean you have feelings. Nicole, are you saying you have feelings?”

“I have feelings. A lot of feelings and right now knowing the only thing between you and me is that coat of yours is giving me a whole new level of feelings.”

“It doesn’t have to come between us.”

I gaze into those twinkling eyes of yours, those perfectly perfect eyes of yours and realise what a fool I’ve been not to have told you that you’ve been on my mind for a while. Now Waverly is on my lips, and it’s the sweetest taste ever.


End file.
